Galad i Cenedril
by AmberRose
Summary: A band of Orcs carry a prize stolen from Elves, and it is up to one Elf to return it to the rightful owners. Finding the marauding band is just one of the many difficulties the Elf must overcome to complete the task. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a standard disclaimer. I don't own the world created by Professor Tolkien, and I don't own the people he created to fit in that world. In fact, I don't really own the characters I created for this story either. Constructive criticism is welcome, as are flames, because flames are amusing. Also, I believe the Elvish translation for the title is Reflection in the Mirror. I say 'believe' because I perused the volumes of Sindarin lessons at for a couple hours and Galad I Cenedril was what I came up with. I'll be doing a bit more research on it.

Okay, enough rambling.

Galad i Cenedril

Chapter 1

It was a beautiful night. The sky was clear and bejeweled with a billion sparkling white specks; the moon was bright and full. A faint breeze moved cool fresh air around the leafed trees, which gently rustled in the soft wind. The air was fresh with scents and cool against heated skin.

It was a beautiful night. Somewhere else.

In the particular tree where one Elf was perched, it was not a beautiful night. Rain pounded down from the thick dark clouds that loomed overhead. The droplets were cold and hard, splashing against his soaked fabric. The rain turned at angles as harsh gusts slammed about the forest trees. Just when it seemed about to let up, the rain came harder.

"All that is missing is thunder," came a bitter mutter.

As if to answer its call, lightning flashed and thunder cracked soon after.

Sighing in defeat, the Elf wrapped the cloak tighter, though it gave no protection against biting wind and cold wetness from the skies.

"Ulmo himself created this storm," came another rueful mumble.

The thunderstorm intensified. The wind blew harder, rain fell faster, and even hail began to fall. The pellets of ice dropped through the leaf canopies and pelted the Elf. Muttering curses, he pulled his hood over his head, but it offered little protection from the biting wind and bruising hail.

Just then, a brilliant flash and stunning crack of thunder exploded in a nearby tree, sending chunks of burnt wood flying in all directions. The Elf had jumped from the lofty perch to a branch of another tree several feet away. It took several minutes of steady breathing for him to regain composure. It was then that the Elf realized that the hail had grown larger and was beginning to hurt with each impact. Getting as close as possible to the large tree's trunk, he tried in vain to avoid bruises.

Yes, it was a miserable night.

(OoO)

_The first shouts of terror echoed through the small village. Flaming arrows began leaping over the wooden walls and taking to roofs and wooden houses. Other arrows flew back and forth over the wall, seeking a victim. The shouts became screams and cries as some poisoned shafts found a body. _

_A child, followed shortly by an adult, emerged from a house, both cloaked and secretive. They crept along the street, to the wall, far from the activity along the southern gate. They reentered a building by the wall. The adult bent to open a trap door and the two dropped into a small tunnel. The door was closed and they moved swiftly in the pitch-black passage. _

_Coming to the end, he pushed another door up and open. He grabbed the boy and lifted him up and out of the shallow tunnel, only to be faced with an arrow bent and ready for flight. A soft twang sounded and the arrow pierced the child's heart. _

_Crying out, the man cradled the dead child to his chest. A sword came from behind and sliced through his neck, severing his head. _

_The first Orc bent over and retrieved a soft leather pouch that was clutched by the child and found what he was looking for. A small ring of braided silver dropped into his palm. The Orc slipped the ring back into the pouch and then into a satchel tied on his back. He silently signaled his companions into a slow jog. East, toward tall mountains._

(OoO)

It was a dream, yet it was not a dream. It came as it usually did, in reverie. It was a vision of importance, sent by silent prayers of one, or a group, in need. Flashes of images were sometimes all that was received, but strong minds sent much more. Pleas, silent or spoken, images played in length and detail.

It was a gift; it was a curse. It was what made Goldir leave the comforts of sheltered habitats and take to the trees and wilds of Middle-earth. It was a choice, but then it was not. He could ignore the visions and leave those in need to their suffering, or he could do something, anything, to aid them.

The vision he had had that last night had shaken him. The two Elves, one seeking only to protect his wards, the second so innocent and so young, had given their lives in a vain attempt to keep a ring of some importance from the hands of evil.

The memory of the images chilled him to the core. Such cruelty and evil. Would it never end?

Goldir sighed softly. After noting with relief that the rain had ceased, and after he leapt back to the tree he had originally taken cover, he pulled up the bag he had tied to the branch the previous night. On the rope also hung his quiver and bow. Both were wet, but the contents of the bag were dry, thanks to the weathered leather sack. He reflected the vision as he ate a light breakfast.

'Certainly the ring is what the Orcs sought. This means they were sent by someone who knew this ring was located there,' he mused.

The sun's rays were glancing over the sleeping land and through the trees. This brought him to his next thought.

'They seemed to be heading east, and why not? Mordor is to the east,' he thought, 'But who is commanding them? Other Orcs? Has another power like Sauron risen in his stead? Or has Sauron...'

He ended the line of thought. No sense worrying about the unknown. His current tree was located three days south of Rivendell. He surmised that the Orcs would either take the Redhorn Pass or the Southern Gap (Gap of Rohan). The Southern Gap made the most sense for a trip to Mordor. Redhorn would take them dangerously close to Lothlórien, but proved a quick way to Dol Guldûr, if in fact that was where they were heading. He had little evidence for either destination.

Goldir frowned deeply. If he went for the Southern Gap and they took Redhorn Pass to Dol Guldûr, the ring would be lost. The opposite was true as well. He had a sudden idea.

Thinking hard, he pictured the mountain profile from his vision. Then he looked to the mountains due east.

They looked nothing alike. Not one peak was familiar. Frowning again, Goldir tried to envision a map of the Misty Mountains. The chain was long, many days riding long, and many more on foot. He had to choose carefully.

'I shall start with a southern heading,' he thought as he secured the sack, quiver, and bow on his back.

Goldir kept a good pace through the day, allowing the breeze and sun to dry his water-logged clothing. The lands west of the Misty Mountains were relatively safe even one thousand years after Sauron's defeat. It was common to see at least one party of travelers, or even lone travelers, on the road between Rivendell and Caradhras. He hoped for such a party; perhaps they had seen a sign of the Orc raiders.

Or better yet, they had captured or killed the group and recovered the ring.

"Not likely," he muttered.

The sun began to set and Goldir considered running through the night but decided against it. The woods offered protection and cover while the land he was about to enter extended little shelter, save the patch of woods in Eregion. Most of east Eriador was rather desolate; those who lived there were tough and hardy.

He would have to travel four days through the rocky grassland. Four weary days, and then Goldir must decide: east, over Redhorn, or south, to the Southern Gap.

It was going to be a rough couple of months.

(OoO)

Búbhosh was a distinguished Orc captain. It was why he had been selected, many years ago, to lead this expedition to Eriador and recover a magic ring. He knew little about it, only that it was made by the accursed Elves and that it was an item of great value.

He wondered though, if it had any power at all.

Looking around the camp, he checked if any of his eleven soldiers were awake and watching. He found none were and carefully pulled out the soft leather pouch. Búbhosh's powerful nose could smell the woody scent of the fabric, and a faint tinge of blood. He loosed the ties and dropped the small silver ring into his dark palm.

It was a thing of beauty, though not of the kind that an Orc would appreciate. Búbhosh frowned, which deepened the creases in his face and made him look even more ugly. He had always thought a ring of power would feel more... powerful.

Dropping the pouch, he rubbed the thin bands that were braided into a circle. They were smooth and unmarred, much the opposite of his own fingers and hands. Still, however, he felt no pull or strange emanation from the ring. Perhaps it really wasn't a magic ring.

He growled softly, "If Boss Burzum is angry, it is not my fault. I did the job. He will take the blame."

Satisfied that the blame had been properly passed, Búbhosh dropped the ring back into the pouch and replaced it in his bag. Attaining rank among Orcs wasn't done by battle alone, it was also made by successfully pushing the blame onto others.

(OoO)

Goldir knelt unobtrusively on a prominent rock that jutted out from a small knoll. He was surrounded on all sides by similar hills, with the rising sun revealing more detail by the minute. The wind blew softly, occasionally catching his dark cloak in a quiet flap. Peering into the distance, he could discern the mountain Caradhras and the western side of the Pass.

The time had come to decide the path to take. East or south.

There had been no travelers along the worn path that was between the Pass and Rivendell. It was still mid-spring, however, and it wouldn't be long till the path would be populated with adventurers and migrants.

Over the course of his four-day run, Goldir had pondered some of the possibilities. One being that he would likely see the Orc band if they were heading to Redhorn from the north or south. Once again, however, if he happened to beat them there then he would need to wait for their arrival. He didn't have the time to follow that theory, since they very well could be heading further south to the Southern Gap.

A scowl creased his fair face. The vision hadn't been very direct at all, and he had had no additional visions during the one night of rest he had allowed himself. He was beginning to wonder if he was even at the right mountain chain.

Tossing that line of thought aside with a snort, Goldir pulled a piece of jerky from his pack and chewed on it thoughtfully. He had had a nagging feeling that he should continue south.

The sun crested the mountain tips and spilled blinding light into the western half of Middle-earth. Shielding his eyes, Goldir leapt from the rock and sat on the ground in the shade of the outcropping.

He had also been looking for the mountain profile that he had seen in his vision. So far, none of the peaks were familiar, but the image he had seen was growing blurry. Which one exactly was the tallest? Perhaps when he saw them he would know for sure.

One thing Goldir could be certain of was that the mountains in his vision were further south. Perhaps if he headed south as well, he would eventually see some sign of the band going north, if that was their direction. If not, then he would have a greater chance of seeing them in the Southern Gap and in Calenardhon.

Resigned to his task to continue south, Goldir rose again and finished the dried meat. After he took a drink from a small water bladder, he began a steady jog, eyes searching the hilly terrain for any sign of movement. A group the size of the Orc band would raise a dust cloud that even a man could see for leagues.

Goldir's frown turned into a devilish grin. The hunt was on.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A small ruckus erupted from a group of Orcs. One shook his deformed hand threateningly at the other, who responded by slapping his hands on his chest, inviting him to attack. Trouble was brewing and Búbhosh would have none of it.

Pushing through the circle of shouting onlookers, the Orc captain shoved apart the two potential combatants.

"We will have none of this fighting," he roared, causing most in the vicinity to involuntarily take a step back.

"We wants fresh meat," one cried.

"Man flesh! Why not attack those walkers," another asked, though he knew he was perhaps overstepping his boundary.

Búbhosh had forbidden the attack of the group of four riders, who were heavily armed. An attack on travelers, especially while they carried such an important item, was just inviting disaster. What would be the consequences if he lost several of his soldiers? They had to be moving soon, under cover of darkness. They had no time for an elaborate meal.

But the smell of the men was tantalizing. He pushed through the Orcs again and low crawled to the peak of a tall knoll. From his vantage point, he could see the travel-worn road below in the fading sunlight. The group had made camp for the night, tying the horses nearby, and had even lit a small fire despite the significant lack of trees. It seemed that they had no clue of the Orc's presence.

'Man flesh,' repeated itself in his mind, intensifying the powerful desire to taste warm meat.

A plan formed in his mind and soon Búbhosh was moving down the hill. He directed the group to split in half. They would wait until the group retired, then proceed to surround the campsite and decimate the four travelers. The odds were highly placed in their favor.

Búbhosh knew, however, that if he alone survived, it would be that much harder to complete the task he had been given.

Night soon fell, deep and dark, with little light from the cloud-masked Ithil. The Orcs had little need of the light, though, since they could plainly smell the burnt wood and the heady smell of the men.

One well-built man remained awake, though he stared unconsciously into the dying flames of their campfire. It seemed that he was unaware of the dark creatures approaching. Búbhosh silently drew his sword and commanded the first group into the campsite.

The man erupted into action, immediately drawing his bow and loosing an arrow before an Orc sword felled him. The three other travelers woke with a start, but were unable to overcome the amount of Orcs who attacked. The group was quickly dispatched and Búbhosh and his Orcs enjoyed a feast of raw and roasted meat that night.

(OoO)

The Elf had been traveling nearly three days strait since crossing the Glanduin River. Goldir had taken to higher ground then, both to find better cover among the rocky terrain and to see across the lands better. The dark glimpse of the mountains he had seen in his vision seemed to match some of the peaks in the southern stretch of the Misty Mountains, but he really couldn't be sure.

In the distance, Goldir could see the Southern Gap, and down in the valley, the road that went through it. The Gap was still a few day's journey, but Goldir was becoming worried. He had seen no sign of Orcs, despite the good line of sight. This had happened before; a vague vision had led him the wrong way.

Tucking away the despairing thoughts, the Elf found a shaded nook and rested there. The sun was high and no Orc would be roaming about at this hour. He took out his sword and knife, a rag and oil and began cleaning the blade.

Goldir had only started when he heard footsteps. A few seconds of listening revealed that the steps were coming from a horse that was steadily approaching. Risking a glance from behind the rock, the Elf saw a brown stallion trotting around in the hilly terrain. It was riderless.

He was still wary; it could be a trap. Goldir remained behind the rock and allowed the horse to roam a bit before he decided to approach it. His eyes scanned the area for risks as he slowly walked up to the horse. The stallion shook his head, but made little other movement. There was no saddle, only a bridal, but he could see markings where a saddle had been placed.

'A horse of Edain,' he thought as he touched the nose.

"Calm, my friend, be at peace. I mean you no harm," he said slowly.

He ran his hand down the sleek muscles of the stallion's back. The horse whinnied. Goldir removed the bridal and tossed it on the ground for later. He lightly leapt up on the stallion's back, but he had barely settled when the creature bolted. Hanging on for dear life, Goldir struggled for a more solid hold.

The horse was moving down the gentle up-slope of the western mountains, toward the road he had been avoiding.

"Halt! Slow, go slow friend, halt!" He tried to stop the out-of-control horse, but to no avail.

They descended to the road very quickly and then ran along it to the south. Finally, the horse began to slow and Goldir was able to sit upright. In the distance, he could see light wisps of smoke rising. They came to a halt next to a well covered camp sight. Goldir dismounted and looked around the flat clearing. It was in a shallow valley, with small hills and boulders sparsely distributed. When he found a foot step, he recognized it was not from a man, but from an Orc.

The Elf realized that whoever had been camping there had been attacked by Orcs, and they had covered it well. There were no other traces of a scuffle, only the footsteps and a black mound of dirt where a fire had been and heat still rose.

Looking back at the horse, Goldir also figured the stallion had probably been with the unfortunate travelers.

"You have no home," he whispered, "Allow me your back and I will give you a home."

The horse shook his head, his dark hair flinging around, and he stamped the ground. Goldir took it as an acceptance. He returned to the campsite and began searching for the smallest clue. First, he had to determine if the Orcs who had attacked were part of the group he sought, and second, he had to find out from which way they had come, and which way they had gone.

He finally found a trail that lead up the hill behind the camp. There were several prints there, and more than one sign of bodies being dragged. After a few minutes, Goldir determined there were between ten and fifteen Orcs who had dragged four bodies, likely the owners of his wayward horse, and two horse bodies.

"Those Orcs had a feast," Goldir murmured when he realized the toll.

Goldir backtracked to the camp. He still had no way to know if the Orc group was indeed the group he hunted, and the only way to find out was to attack them and search the bodies. The main problem with that course of action was Goldir against possibly fifteen heavily armed and angry Orcs on a mission. He had no plan that would work against those odds.

He thought to ride ahead and ambush them in the wooded areas just past the Southern Gap, and since there was little else he could think of so far away from Elven assistance, Goldir mounted the stallion and began riding.

Sighing, Goldir knew he would have to leave the horse if he wanted to keep his secrecy, but he had to admit that it was nice to ride after running for so long.

(OoO)

"Búbhosh," the Orc scout reported, "There is a tracker. One Elf follows."

"When," the Orc Captain asked.

"From the camp we attacked. He searched around there and rode south."

Búbhosh cursed. He had taken great pains to avoid the discovery of the campsite, or at least cover their part in the disappearance of the four men. Two horses had run off, but he had figured they would be found or killed. Still, it was only one Elf, and the twelve Orcs could take on one Elf. Unless this Elf was a scout for a larger party...

The scout was somewhat patient as Búbhosh pondered over what to do with their supposed solitary pursuer. Likely that the Elf had happened upon the campsite and knew nothing about the important prize they carried, which was their advantage. And considering the possibility that he did know and was part of a bigger group, he couldn't know where they were taking it.

"Yes..." Búbhosh his murmured thought out loud.

He had an idea.

"We continue to the Gap, and then split. Six go east, six go north. He will follow the east group," Búbhosh concluded, feeling quite proud of himself.

The scout beat his chest once in acceptance and walked away. They would part just after crossing the Angren (Isen), one group heading toward Calenardhon, the other northward, to their real destination.

(OoO)

As the sun was setting, Goldir looked at the clouds, trying to determine if they were moving away or if a higher level would block the moon. The Orcs would move during the night, and the light of Ithil provided enough light for him to see clearly for leagues. He just hoped the trees wouldn't block too much light.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel, give Ithil leave of these clouds this night," he murmured a prayer.

The narrowest part of the Southern Gap was half a day's ride from the spot Goldir picked to camp. He let the horse, which he had named Gwaedh in honor of their oath, run free for the night as he had the previous night. He felt comfortable resting and looking for the Orc group from a high perch during the night now that he had a mount. Any ground lost would be made up on Gwaedh.

Goldir sought out the highest tree he could find and climbed to the upper branches. Pulling his green cloak close around him for cover, he began searching the ground for any movement. The Orc group would have to cross the lower road at some point, and that would bring them into the open. It was this point that Goldir hoped to get a good look at them, from numbers to vague images left over from his vision.

Anor had gone down and Ithil had risen through half the sky before Goldir saw any unnatural movement. He saw one shadowy figure quickly run across the road to his right. One by one, twelve figures crossed the road and disappeared into the woods.

'Twelve,' he thought, 'That number is within my first estimate.'

The wooded area was relatively thin. The width of the woods, from the road to the steep incline of Dol Baran, was an two hour-long walk across. Its length was much longer, surrounding the southern stretch of the Misty Mountains, gapping at Isengard, and reforming into Fangorn Forest.

Neither the Orcs nor Goldir wished to enter Fangorn.

As Goldir contemplated his attack plan, he noticed approaching footsteps and crunching noises.

'The Orcs!" He thought with sudden panic.

He was not afraid of battle, just very wary of an unplanned ambush. Reaching for arrows, Goldir quickly thought out a plan. One or two shots, then off to another tree, where he would get a few more. By then, they would figure out where he was and then battle would be on the ground.

Goldir was reaching for his arrows, but found he could not calm his pounding heart. He stayed very still as the first Orc came into his view from the lofty perch. A second came, and then a third. Quickly, all twelve moved under the Elf, none showing any awareness of his presence.

When he could no longer hear the noisy Orcs, Goldir still could not calm his heart. Fear had choked his actions, but perhaps the attack would have gone ill and it had been his unconscious judgment that had halted his actions.

The Elf thought this a lame excuse for an inexcusable deed, but he climbed down the tree and looked at the tracks carefully. He determined they were the same Orcs who had attacked the four travelers.

He thought to follow the group until the first light of dawn, after which he needed to be careful not to stumble upon the resting group.

'Walking upon a beehive,' he likened the experience.

Gwaedh was nearby; he could hear the horse approaching. Frowning, Goldir wondered what he should do with the creature. He preferred to attack the group in the rocky openness of Calenardhon, where his Elven stealth would be advantageous, but a mounted assault wouldn't be a bad idea in the wooded area.

Leading Gwaedh, Goldir silently followed the obvious trail. The woods began to thin and Goldir realized that the patch wasn't as long as he had thought. His keen ears picked up running water from the Angren. He doubted the Orcs would make the Fords of Angren before dawn since, even as he thought of this, the first rays of Anor were glowing in the east.

Goldir halted behind a large tree and peered out across the down-sloping land. The Orc trail was plain to see, but the hill crest blocked any further view. Sighing, Goldir crept out into the open and down until he could see the Angren and the only ford through the Southern Gap. The trail led there, crossed it, went up the hill and disappeared over its crest.

"Speed was their ally this night," he muttered in shock.

Anor crested the horizon and any sight over the opposite hill was lost in the light. Determined, Goldir leapt onto Gwaedh's back and galloped down the hill and through the shallow ford. He slowed as they climbed the hill and the Elf picked up the trail again.

Goldir dismounted and slowly walked the rest of the way up the hill, an arrow nocked and ready. What he found at the top surprised him. The Orcs had stopped, perhaps as a rest, but once they began again, there were two trails as if the group had split.

There were two paths, two trails, and Goldir had one decision to make. Follow the eastern heading trail to a likely destination of Mordor, or the northern trail, to what could only be Dol Guldûr.

(OoO)

The Orcs ran until the light burned their eyes and their skin was scorched. Only then did Búbhosh allow the group to rest in the shade of a dark and gnarled forest. They were cautious and quiet and left the trees undisturbed. Only their captain knew they had taken refuge in the outskirts of Fangorn Forest.

The two groups of six had split a good five hours earlier and Búbhosh's best fighters had gone north with him. The more expendable Orcs he sent east across Calenardhon, with orders to take a fortnight circling the plains, and then head north to their stronghold in the eastern Misty Mountains. If the Elf caught up with the six and killed them, they would not be hindered. If the Elf managed to follow the group to the stronghold, well, it was obvious what would happen.

Búbhosh smiled greedily. He had nearly accomplished his mission, capturing this ring for his masters. Not that he was eager to please anyone but himself, but he hadn't really had a choice when the Nazgúl had given the order nearly eighty years earlier. Once he had the ring, he was told to take it to the only Orc stronghold in the Misty Mountains, which was north of the Gladden River, and wait there until the Nazgúl thought it safe enough to approach Dol Guldûr without repercussion from the watchful Lórien or Greenwood Elves.

Those Elves were his current problem. The mysterious trees of Lothlórien were extremely dangerous, and Búbhosh would not risk following the Anduin along its borders. They would have to cross somewhere along the treacherous river. That risk was not as great as the Lothlórien borders. Once they crossed the Anduin, he had to worry about how well patrolled the Greenwood borders were. It was long since he had been near Greenwood, almost one hundred years, and even then he hadn't felt a strong threat there.

Shrugging it off, Búbhosh leaned against the tree, trying to find a more comfortable position. They were safe for now, even if that safety was relative.

(OoO)

Gwaedh trotted steadily over the vast plains of Calenardhon as Goldir rode in deep contemplation. He still didn't feel quite _right_ about going after the eastward moving group. There was no logical northern destination for the Orcs, save Dol Guldûr.

Goldir had ruled out that course after much contemplation and racking his memory for snippets of information about reoccupation of the tower there. That didn't mean that evil things wouldn't soon reclaim Dol Guldûr, but Goldir had no current information on the matter, and therefore, had to assume it was still empty and guarded by his Sylvan kin.

That left a much more sensible destination of Mordor. While still guarded by the Edain of Gondor, Goldir knew there were several other ways into the barren lands of Mordor.

Goldir had been there before, on the very footsteps of Orodruin, and he had absolutely no intention of returning. His plan left the Orcs no chance of coming within a hundred leagues of Mordor. The Orcs knew they were being followed; their separation proved this. Still, it wasn't the most intelligent thing to do, because Goldir knew he could take on six Orcs with much less trouble than twelve Orcs.

In the distance, Goldir could plainly see the six creatures trudging along under the pale light of Ithil. They had to know they were being pursued, and eventually they would probably try to set up an ambush. He would outsmart them. When they stopped for daybreak, Goldir would keep riding, circling the group to set up his own ambush on a strategically sound hill. The Elf could take out the six Orcs with his bow and never even have to draw his sword.

Daylight broke and Goldir watched the Orcs halt. He dismounted Gwaedh and lay unobtrusively upon a rock, taking note of their positions and location. One Orc remained quite visible, the single guard of the group. The land around them was relatively flat, but large rocks stood above the knee-height grasses.

Goldir climbed down the rock and removed his pack and weapons. He then removed his clothing until he was naked. He then turned and looked at Gwaedh rather conscious of his nakedness.

"Likely you have never seen one of my kind clothe-less. I must fight this way because my clothes smell of you and the Orcs will know I approach," he explained.

He quickly twined together several of the grass stems until a crude circlet was made. With this, Goldir pulled up his dark braided hair so it would not interfere. Taking up his quiver, he attached his knife to the inside and then slid the leather thongs over his head and adjusted the straps until it was secure against his back.

The Elf leapt up to the rock once more to double check on the Orc's location. After making sure it was the same, he ran off among the rocks.

It took Goldir a better part of the morning to make a wide enough circle around the Orcs. He needed to come at the back of the guard Orc, who had been facing where Gwaedh and his clothes were. There were sharp stones hidden in the grass, and Goldir had stepped on one more than once, but he ignored the stinging as he silently approached the Orc camp.

One head stuck up from the rocks, facing away from Goldir. The Elf drew his knife as he leapt on the rock, grabbed the Orc's greasy hair and slit his throat. The dying creature made a few gurgling sounds as black blood poured from the wound. Without missing a beat, Goldir left his knife stabbed into the dead Orc's eye as he drew arrows and began firing at the sleeping Orcs. Two awoke suddenly and reached for their own bows, but Elven arrows found their mark before the Orc arrows had a chance.

Goldir dropped his bow and retrieved his knife. He went around to each Orc, finishing off one whose arrow hadn't done the trick.

The adrenaline rush was still pumping when Goldir realized he was finished. He laughed out loud, "A pitiful band of Orcs you are, to be killed so quickly by one naked Elf. Now, show me the ring you carry."

There were only two packs among the six, and a thorough searched revealed nothing. Goldir went through their clothing, their weapons, every single place a ring could be hidden, he searched. Until Anor was setting, the Elf searched in growing frustration. He was left with only one explanation.

With an enraged outcry, the Elf dropped to his knees and slammed his fists on the ground. He had been tricked, outwitted, by a group of Orcs.

"I should have attacked them that night. Curse them! Curse them to a fiery chasm from which they will never be born again," Goldir shouted and then hung his head low in despair, "What am I doing here? Alas that I ever left the comforts of Elvenhome and the Sea. They were right and I refused to listen."

Hot tears of shame pricked his eyes as he remembered the frightened eyes of the child, and the anguished cry the adult had uttered as he cradled the dead youth.

"I refused to listen to them because I know I must do what I can before I leave these shores," he whispered as he stood.

He owed it to the dead Elves of that town, he owed it to their spirits housed in Mandos' Halls, to return the ring to its rightful owners, or at the very least, see it taken to safe quarters.

Goldir stacked the Orc bodies in a crude pile and set them on fire. Once he saw the flames had taken, he left at a swift pace, arriving to where his belongings were just as the final rays of light dipped down past the Misty Mountains and Southern Gap. He quickly redressed and attached all loose articles to his person. Gwaedh was missing, but he found the stallion after a quick search, and the two galloped off into the night.

"They must be going to Dol Guldûr, Gwaedh, but for all the stars above I do not know why," he despaired, "Ride, my friend, we must make haste to catch them before they cross the Anduin."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This story is set in the TA: 1046. I kept forgetting to add that. Enjoy!

Chapter 3

Goldir knew he was not likely to catch the Orcs by a strait northward ride, but he didn't have the time to back track to the Southern Gap. The Orcs would have reached Dol Guldûr by the time he found their trail, and then it would be too late. He had to cut them off. That meant he had to cross the Anduin.

There were very few crossings along the southern Anduin, and even fewer shallow enough for horses. Goldir's thoughts turned from the humiliating east-going chase to what he would do with Gwaedh. The only possible horse crossing he knew of was in a sharp turn of the North Undeep, and that was during late summer, just before the fall rainy season began. It was still early summer, so he had no way of knowing how deep the curve was.

Ahead, Goldir could see the Onodlé (Entwash). Ithil had come above the horizon and the two had been riding for hours. It was a good place for the two to rest and for him to collect his thoughts. He was still disappointed that he was so easily tricked by a couple Orcs, creatures that, despite their origins, were not touted as intelligent or smart.

Gwaedh had gone to the river for a drink and Goldir checked out the depth and clarity. It was shallow but wide, slow and clear. Smiling, the Elf stripped to nothing and waded into the river, intent on bathing. The water was cool and refreshing; its temperature reminded Goldir of the ocean near his home.

"Ah, home," he sighed, "You will enjoy galloping along the beach, my friend. The cool salt spray in your face, the crisp wind to your side, and the warmth of Anor all around."

The thought of the ocean and the sight of a billion stars above brought a sudden ache in his heart and tears to his eyes. The sea-longing of the Teleri was never quiet, even when living on land next to it. It was especially strong when his thoughts centered on home and the sea. He floated in the water for a long while before he felt any urge to move or clean himself.

Despite having no shampoo or soap, Goldir was happy he could at least bathe and rinse the grime from his hair and wash the dirt from his body. He was an Elf after all, and Elves were clean by nature.

After washing and redressing, he combed his hair and then lay back to watch the stars.

"Elves are children of the stars, Gwaedh," Goldir said, "Always we find comfort in them. Stars were the first things the Elves saw when they awoke. Elbereth Gilthoniel lit each one and gone was the darkness of Middle-earth like a thousand candles in the deepest cavern."

Goldir softly sang a song of Elbereth Gilthoniel,  
"A Elbereth Gilthoniel  
silivren penna míriel  
o menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-díriel  
o galadhremmin ennorath,  
Fanuilos le linnathon  
nef aear, sí nef aearon."

Crickets halted their chirping, bullfrogs stopped their groaning calls, and owls dimmed their voices to better hear a song unheard in those parts in almost an age. Goldir rested in reverie, and in the morning when he awoke, it seemed that the grass around him had grown greener.

Gwaedh was gone, it seemed at first, but Goldir found him standing on the opposite shore of the Onodlé. The Elf whistled several times but the stallion shook his head each time and seemed eager to ride. He pulled off his soft leather shoes and rolled up his leggings as far as they would go.

"Nostad lín sui Edain," he shouted the insult as he waded across the river. (You smell like Men.)

The horse nickered and snorted as if he found the whole situation humorous. The Elf wasn't as amused as the horse, but he wasn't truly peeved either. Goldir didn't bother putting on his shoes before he leapt upon Gwaedh's back. The two set a steady pace for the next two days, moving by day and resting by night. One thought that hadn't occurred to the Elf was that six Orcs could cover their tracks much more easily than twelve Orcs could. He was forced to dismount and search by foot for any kind of trail, and he had yet to locate the right one.

They traveled across the grassy plains of the Wold in three days time. Woodlands lined both sides of the Anduin and Goldir had little hope of catching sight of the Orcs with all the trees around. He found a half-worn path he had used before to locate the seasonal crossing and followed it to the bank edge.

The Anduin was swift and a murky green color, and cold, as Goldir found out when he tested the depth. The shallowest point came to his chest, which was nearly to Gwaedh's back. He would have to wear the bridal for guidance, and Goldir was glad he had kept it.

He left the water and pulled the bridal out from his pack and struggled to put it on. Goldir hadn't ever used one before, and had nearly cut the leather straps when he removed it from Gwaedh. When he finally got it on right and attached a rope to one of the metal loops, he slowly began crossing the river.

Gwaedh was nervous, he could tell, but the horse made the crossing without incident and the two rested on the rocky berm of the turn.

"That was not so bad," Goldir said as he pulled out a small fishing kit.

Anor was setting in the west when the Elf finally caught a fish. He cooked the trout over a small fire and enjoyed a fresh meal instead of jerky or dried fruit. After he finished, he found a good-sized tree limb near the riverbank and settled down for the night.

"We leave early, Gwaedh," he said, "Before Ithil sets. The eastern side has a thin wooded area, and then it is grass again until the borders of Greenwood. We will catch them there."

When Goldir realized how much he had been talking to his horse lately, he felt silly.

Shrugging, he looked at the stallion, "Good night, Gwaedh."

(OoO)

The horse and rider were riding again before Ithil began its westward descent. The dark thoughts of never finding the group crept back into Goldir's mind. He realized regretfully that he should have backtracked to the Angren and followed the other band north. Now he was too pressed for time; the Orcs were too far ahead.

He had made far too many mistakes for comfort.

The two had cleared the wooded area next to the Anduin and were tracking northward at a steady pace. Gwaedh kept steadily to the higher ground of the gentle rolling hills while Goldir searched the horizon for any movement. They traveled a good distance on the first two days, but the Elf saw no sign of his quarry.

Along the journey, Goldir saw the darkness growing deeper in the outskirts of Greenwood. By the third day, he could see the crumbling tower of Dol Guldûr. The sight chilled him to the bone, a very uncanny feeling for a being unaffected by heat or cold.

As dawn came, Goldir had seen no sign of the Orcs and knew he would not see them during day. He dismounted and slowly approached the eaves of Greenwood. It was dangerously dark and impenetrably quiet. An overgrown path lead into the woods, shadowed by the branches twining overhead. The Elf had gone some distance in before he realized Gwaedh had not followed.

"Gwaedh, come," he called, but the horse did not follow.

As skittering sounds came from his left, and Goldir whipped around to find no sign of movement, the Elf could understand the wavering will of the horse. He removed his bow from its tether on his quiver and held it close. Whether by arrow or sword, Goldir swore to himself that nothing would take him down without a fierce fight.

The hour long hike seemed to last much longer in the stifling shadows of the thick and gnarled trees. Towering ahead was Dol Guldûr, a tall tower surrounded by a circular courtyard and a tall stone wall. The path lead to a rusted but solid iron gate. The Elf didn't need to try the door to know it wouldn't budge.

Instead, he hurried toward the lighter eaves of the surrounding clearing, quickly climbing the stone wall. Even as he crossed the threshold of the wall, the top covered with dirt and grime, he could feel the evil emanating from the dark tower.

It too, like the woods surrounding it, was eerily quiet but tensed, as a faithful servant awaiting the return of his masters. Goldir felt suddenly out of place as he stood on the wall; he knelt, as if trying to avoid being noticed. He felt mildly silly, but did not wish to stay longer. Something was amiss, something out of place.

A branch cracked behind him, followed by a whoosh of air. Spinning fast, Goldir was faced with an giant spider flying directly at him, enormous stinger ready to pierce his body. He had only one place to go.

Goldir flipped backwards into the courtyard of Dol Guldûr.

(OoO)

The six Orcs steadily approached the rushing water sound of the Anduin. Búbhosh yet knew not if they would be able to cross there, since it was always best to cross the Anduin when frozen over or after a rainless summer. The nearest crossing was a four-day journey south that he did not wish to make unless he had no other choice.

They had not seen the Elf tracker for days.

This both worried and relieved Búbhosh. He was more inclined to believe that they had lost the Elf, but they were not in the clear even if they had no tracker. Crossing the river was the first problem, and then passing the borders of Greenwood was their next issue.

Búbhosh knelt behind a bush overlooking the waters of the Anduin. The crossing was not heavily traveled and there was no path leading to the bank. To his left he could see the merging river Limlight. The area just downstream was wide but shallow, and seemed shallow enough for six Orcs to cross safely.

Clouds had been covering both Anor and Ithil for the past few days, and they were again under cover of near darkness. Búbhosh was satisfied that no obvious threat was about and sent the first three across the river. They made it safely, with only one slipping on a rock halfway through the waist deep middle. After a few minutes to secure the area, they waved over the next three.

Búbhosh went in between the other two and soon they were on the other side of the river. Búbhosh smiled wickedly. He was almost there. So close to accomplishing his greatest mission.

What place would the Nazgúl have for the loyal Orc Búbhosh? Nay, what place would Lord Sauron have? The possibilities were endless, and Búbhosh was nearly giddy with the thought of it all.

Life was good.

(OoO)

Had Goldir not leaned his head as far back as he could, it would have been impaled by the stinger of the biggest spider he had ever seen. The Elf pulled a back flip off the wall to avoid the spider, which was as large as a medium-sized boulder, but in the process his arrows spilled all over the ground.

He tried to grab for one before the black spider lunged again, but he had to jump to the left to avoid a deadly stab. Instead of his bow, Goldir grabbed his sword and squared off with the evil creature.

"Darkness will not avail you, Hell spawn of Ungoliant," he cried, "You will pay for the crimes of your mother by this blade wrought by Teleri hands!"

The spider seemed hesitant, if only for a moment, at the oath and fierce eyes of the Elf. He circled around until the Elf was pinned against the wall and then lunged. Goldir backed against the wall, rolled right, and brought his sword down upon the spider's first two left legs.

The legs fell on the dirt, twitching. The creature screeched in pain before limping after Goldir, who had picked up an arrow and fitted it to his bow so fast that the spider had little time to react. He had barely stopped before the arrow caught him in the top middle eye, killing him instantly.

The spider was finished, but Goldir was not. Taking his blade, he halved the carcass and cut each leg from the body, hacking away as if it would relieve the pain from the past. He buried the sword to the hilt in the thickest part of the spider and stopped, hands trembling.

"For the light of the two Trees, and all the pain their loss caused," he murmured.

Only the heavy breathing of the Elf was heard in the still air of Dol Guldûr. The silence pressed on the Elf like a heavy cloak, and he quickly gathered as many arrows as he could find before climbing the outer wall and running along the dark path.

He could not get away from the deadly silence fast enough.

Goldir found Gwaedh nervous and fretful as he emerged from the woods like a bat out of Hell. Peering back into the tree-tunnel, the Elf thought he saw red glowing eyes, thousands of them, but he did not confirm it. From a dead run, he leapt upon the stallion's back.

"Noro lim, Gwaedh," he whispered breathlessly.

Gwaedh ran as fast as his legs could carry them. Long they rode, Goldir glancing over his back occasionally. Nothing followed, and soon the Elf wondered if the whole thing had been in his imagination. The black blood encrusted on his sword shattered that thought.

The Elf forced himself to focus on his task. Warily, he pushed away all thoughts of Dol Guldûr and halted Gwaedh as he took in their surroundings.

How far they had ridden north in fear, Goldir did not know, but they would likely have to return if they wanted to catch those Orcs. Sighing, the Elf dismounted and looked closely at the ground. He found animal tracks mostly, all going to and from the nearby river. After a few minutes of halfhearted searching, Goldir found other tracks.

Fresh tracks. Orc tracks.

Self control kept him from whooping in delight as he found the trail he had long suffered to find. Leaping on Gwaedh, the two followed the trail north.

"They go north, Gwaedh, away from Dol...," he was unable to finish, but cleared his throat, "What possible destination could there be? This has turned out to be a most curious puzzle."

The tracks were quite plain to see in the knee-deep grasses. They tracked slightly east, coming closer to Greenwood. Goldir glanced into the woods and noted that they were not as dark and foreboding as they were around Dol Guldûr.

Goldir returned his watchful eye to the trail. They hadn't ridden much further when the Elf noticed the single track split into six different paths. The next sight caused him to halt Gwaedh and dismount.

Blood was splattered over the brown grass stems, and caked into the ground on the trampled area. It was black blood, Orc blood, and it increased as the Elf moved further along the trail. He had very few physical clues as to who had attacked the Orcs, and successfully killed them, but he could certainly assume it was the Sylvan Elves from Greenwood.

He remounted Gwaedh and followed the trail, now obviously six bodies being dragged toward the eaves of Greenwood. When the path entered the woods, Goldir stopped. He dismounted and lead Gwaedh on foot, carefully following the drag marks. While the trees did not coil and twine above, they did block out much of the sunlight. The forest floor was nearly bare, with bushes and tall plants dotting the sparse clearings.

A soft brush of fabric above was Goldir's only warning. An arrow was nocked and ready for flight by the time two Elves dropped from the tree branches and landed in front and back of Goldir and Gwaedh, both with bows and arrows facing the intruder.

Nothing was said as the three Elves lowered their respective weapons after a few tense moments.

"You have passed into the borders of Greenwood. These lands are protected by the Guard of King Thranduil," the Elf facing him spoke, "State your business."

"I am Goldir. I have been tracking six Orcs for many days now. They killed several of my kin and I followed for revenge," Goldir said. It was a half-truth, indeed, but he did not feel inclined to reveal his true reason for tracking the group.

Five more Elves dropped from the branches above as the Elf standing before him decided what to do with the visitor. Goldir took the opportunity to reflect the differences in the attire of the Sylvan Elves from what he had last seen. They were tall and well-built for Elves, wearing the colors of the natural habitat surrounding them, their hair either short or braided up. It was no small wonder Goldir had missed them in the trees.

"Six Orcs passed too close to the trees for our comfort. We killed them all one night before. The carcasses were burned and buried. They carried nothing of value," he said, then stood silent, waiting to judge Goldir's reaction.

Goldir was intrigued by the reply, 'I banter with no ordinary Elf.'

"I know their patterns. This was the group. Alas that I did not have the honor of revenge. By the hands of Elves they are dead, and that is better than alive. Though, I was sure they had stolen many things of value as prizes," the Elf finished.

There was no chance now of Goldir returning the ring by his own volition. He was annoyed now, after all the trouble he had gone through tracking the Orcs across Middle-earth, to come to Greenwood and be toyed with.

The Elf smiled slightly, "I am Celetur. Come, we have their packs. I searched them personally and saw nothing of value, but perhaps your value is different than mine," at this, a rope dropped from above and the six Elves climbed up one by one.

Goldir studied the Elf before him once more. The grey-eyed Celetur was not Sylvan, he noted, but looked more Sindar. His stature held a mystery that he had seen before.

It became obvious that Celetur was waiting for Goldir to climb.

"My horse," he said, rather than asked.

"Will be safe. There are no evil creatures in these parts, save rare cases that are taken care of quickly," Celetur finished.

Nodding, Goldir climbed the rope, and was followed shortly by the guard leader.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Celetur led Goldir and the five other Elves along a series of single rope bridges strung along the trees. They traveled deeper into the forest than Goldir would have liked, and he had only the word of safety from the Greenwood Elf who had confronted him.

Eventually, Celetur halted on a small platform and slid down a rope to the ground. Goldir followed. The two Elves had been quiet thus far, and the silence was starting to bother Goldir.

"I have heard little of the Greenwood Elves. Tell me, how do your people fare?" he asked.

Celetur held his answer for a moment, "We are doing well. Many years my Lord has been here, and many more we will remain."

"You have never heard the cry of gulls or the sound of waves," he murmured.

Always, thoughts of the sea distracted him something terrible. It was only when Celetur stopped that Goldir noticed they had arrived at some type of campsite. Three ragged packs lay on the ground next to a recently used fire pit.

The Elf knelt by the packs and went through them. While searching the second pack, he found a familiar item. The leather pouch. Goldir fingered it lightly, but found the ring gone. With much distress, difficultly hidden, he dropped the pouch as if it meant nothing. His hands returned to the search, but his mind focused on Celetur.

The light-haired Elf was no ordinary soldier. He brought him deep into the woods while making sure he had backup. Goldir had no doubt that Celetur had found the ring. The ring was in safe possession now, and that was what ultimately mattered, but the Elf wanted to return it to the rightful owners.

Goldir rose and glanced around at the six Elves, "I have found none of the missing items. Perhaps they were dropped along the way, or simply lost. I thank you for bringing me this far."

"It is unfortunate that you have come so far only to find nothing," Celetur said coyly, "You must be weary. Join us this night, rest and recover in Elven company."

Goldir was incensed at the remark. Shortly, an idea formed in his head. Perhaps he could find out from Celetur where the ring had gone from there. He would go further, if he must, to return the ring.

"I admit that Gwaedh is not the most... entertaining companion. Your offer is gratefully accepted," he said as he bowed.

Signaling the group to follow, Celetur lead them along a path that seemed to go further into the thick woods, but Goldir was rather disoriented in the darkening light, both from heavy overgrowth and dusk. The walk was easy, over flat terrain, with leafy bushes and large-leaf plants lining the path. In the distance, the Elf could see dots of firelight, in what he assumed was the main camp of the Greenwood guards.

Several Elves were sitting around campfires, singing or eating or quietly chatting. Goldir received curious looks from most, to which he turned his face and chose a fire away from others. Celetur joined him shortly, with offerings of food and wine.

Goldir ate and drank, taking delight in the simple things he had missed during the past weeks. One of the things he had missed most was Elven company, yet he was quite self-conscious among the Greenwood guards. The two Elves had been quiet for a long while. The noise had grown somewhat when Celetur spoke.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"I am known as Goldir," the Elf answered plainly.

"Very well. Perhaps if I give my true name, you will offer yours. I am Legolas Thranduilion," he said, grey eyes searching his.

Silence answered Legolas' confession.

Goldir finally spoke, "You hide behind a false name for different reasons than I. Still, I will not give my true name because it is not your concern."

Legolas leaned back slightly, "Your secrecy is not necessary. You are among your kin, your people. Why do you hide your most unveiling title?"

"I can hide very little before Elves, and I will hide what I can until I desire to reveal it, whether by need of safe passage or a matter of convenience," he finally glanced up at Legolas.

The Sinda Prince met Goldir's gaze, "The ring has been taken to my father. Its power was nearly useless. A trinket likely wrought by Celebrimbor on a whim, it grows fruit and vegetable plants."

A small sigh escaped the Elf, "I had a feeling that it was not a powerful ring. Perhaps the Orcs had word that it was... one of more power. I still do not know where they could have been taking it, or what they would have done with it."

"Orcs have been passing along the Anduin for a few seasons now. They go north for a distance before crossing the Anduin again. Their destination is beyond our eyesight."

"Beyond your eyesight or your concern," Goldir challenged.

"Perhaps both," Legolas said with a gleam in his eyes, "Now, a fair trade. Your name for what I knew you wanted."

"My father-name is Aeredhel, though I use it never. My true name is Fanadîn," Goldir said quietly.

Legolas was silent a moment as he contemplated Goldir's names and their implications.

"I shall be blunt, for the situation seems to call for it. Your names are rather feminine and your face is too fair to be an ellon, but you do not seem like a typical elleth. I solve one mystery only to open another," Legolas sounded more amused than bewildered.

Goldir sighed deeply, "I am an elleth. I hide behind my name because it is much easier to pretend I am an ellon and be accepted as one than try to win the respect I would have if I were instead. Call it false; it is. But I accomplish what I set out to do. The Orcs are dead and the ring is in safe hands."

"My respect would be no less had you been open in the first place," Legolas said, and he seemed hurt by her assumption, "There are often elleth who wish to serve the borders. They are assessed closer than ellon, perhaps, but no less respected than any other Elf in Greenwood."

Legolas refilled their cups with wine and tipped it to her, "I will take you to my Lord tomorrow, and you may try your hand at convincing him to let free the ring. Do not expect an easy conversation, however, he is loath to release what he believes is rightly his."

Goldir nodded softly as she sipped at the wine. It would be... interesting to see Thranduil again.

A/N - Okay, I may or may not have pissed you off by the twist in this chapter. But really, do give the rest a chance. I promise it isn't a Legomance.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Goldir filled in Legolas of her trip during the two day journey to the central city of Greenwood. He was impressed by her steadfastness, even after following the wrong group for a day. She did, however, leave out a few parts, as they were rather more embarrassing than a good decision gone wrong.

They arrived at the home of the Greenwood Elves by mid afternoon of the second day. The area surrounding a cave entrance was populated by stands and wooden buildings, but was also heavily guarded. A sturdy bridge was set across a swift river, the crossing just before the great open doors.

Legolas answered her unspoken question, "Evil things have been attacking the Elves here. We have been keeping a close watch over the borders, but these creatures come from within. Greenwood is a very large place, and it would not be difficult to hide for many years. Tell me of Dol Guldûr. You spoke little of it."

Glancing away nervously, Goldir said, "I wish not to speak of it. It is not a place to visit lightly, and it was not at all as it was in my vision. I thought of it... without emotion. The real place was..."

"Was what? What did you see, or feel?" Legolas stopped, and faced her to ask.

The Elf faced away for a long while before turning, fear evident on her face, "A sense of disquiet. Brooding patience, as if it were a faithful servant awaiting the return of his master. Darkness. Death."

"This news is dire indeed. Your coming is useful still. My Lord will want to hear your tale," Legolas said.

The Prince led her though the trading market and into the corridors of Greenwood. They were not dark or damp as Goldir had expected, but brightly lit by torches whose light reflected dazzlingly off of tiny gems and veins of gold in the rock.

He stopped by a wooden door, "You may rest here during your stay in Greenwood. My father will send for you when he is ready to see you."

Goldir started, "Can I see him soon? You must understand that I have come a long way."

Legolas smiled softly, "I do understand," he leaned close, "Perhaps you would want to make yourself more presentable. You wear many days of travel."

The elleth blushed furiously. Indeed she smelled of days of travel, her hair was a mess and her clothes stained. Legolas walked away and Goldir stormed into the room. She removed the travel worn clothes and washed using a basin of water on a stand. She found a robe hanging by the bed and put it on while trying to decide what to do with her dirty clothes.

A knock sounded and a dark-haired elleth entered after a moment, "I was sent to bring you proper clothing until your own can be cleaned."

The elleth held out a plain white linen, long-sleeved dress. Smiling gratefully, Goldir accepted the dress. After the elleth left with her clothes, the Elf dressed and then lay on the bed, having nothing to do but rest. One last thought noted how soft the bedding was compared to tree branches and ground.

(OoO)

A firm knock on the door roused Goldir from her reverie. Opening the door, Goldir found an ellon waiting patiently.

"The King will see you now," he said.

Nodding gratefully, Goldir followed the Elf down corridors that grew even more decorative and grand. They came at last to a great hall lit by red torches. Huge pillars were carved into the rock, and they led to a chair where Thranduil sat, crowned by a ring of leaves. The Elf led Goldir to within meters of the King before taking his leave.

Thranduil gazed at Goldir for a long moment, trying to place her in his memory. Finally, he said, "Fanadîn. Yes, I remember you now. You are among the few good memories during a time of despair and war. What brings you to my realm?"

Bowing respectfully, Goldir answered, "I pursued a band of Orcs for months, Orcs who had killed Elven villagers and stolen an item of value. I wish to return it."

Smiling softly, the only emotion he had shown so far, he leaned back, "You speak of a trinket. It is not of any value, except perhaps, to farmers. Tell me, I have heard you chanced Dol Guldûr alone."

She said nothing, but Thranduil read the answer in her eyes, "Foolhardy. I would not send my best bowman or spearman alone on such a reckless adventure. The place may be empty, but it is not welcome to Sauron's enemies."

"It is empty," Goldir said, playing right into Thranduil's hand. She knew he was trying to maneuver her, but she had nothing to gain by hiding valuable information, and perhaps it would be exchanged for the ring.

"Empty, at least, of the evil creatures known by me. I was attacked by a wretched spider, but I managed to kill it. I spent no more time there before leaving," she said.

"Fleeing," Thranduil said with a gleam in his eye.

Goldir's face burned red, and she whispered, "Indeed. I fled. With the last motion of the spider, when I at last stopped, the deadly silence returned, and I feared more spiders would come. Something... something waits there. The air was hostile and brooding, as if the very place recognized its enemy.

"I wish to speak of it no more," she finished firmly.

Thranduil nodded once, "You have said more than enough. Tell me more of your journey. How did you escape with the knowledge of your village's ring being stolen?"

Goldir told her tale, from the vision to the end in Greenwood. Thranduil listened quietly, saying nothing until the end.

"Then you do not even know where this village is located? Somewhere in Eriador is not good enough. The trinket is safer here."

"But it does not belong here," Goldir cried, the frustration of the past months finally getting the better of her, "I have come through hell and high water to hunt down these Orcs and I will not leave without the ring. The villagers need it."

Frowning, the king said, "The villagers may very well be gone from this world. I will not leave you the ring to return to a village you do not know. My word is law here and I will not repeal this."

The two Elves stared long at the other, but Goldir knew she had to back down. Like it or not, Thranduil was King and she was a visitor, a guest, who could easily be left by the borders with nothing but the pack she had come with.

Bowing just long enough to be respectful, Goldir bid the king farewell and retreated down the hall. Glancing to the right, she noticed Legolas standing in an attaching corridor. He didn't move and Goldir returned her gaze to the open doors.

After a few wrong turns, Goldir finally found her room. Her clothes had been cleaned and were laying on the bed. The elleth reached for the lacings on the back of her dress, intent on changing and leaving, when someone cleared their throat.

Whipping around, hand going automatically to her side where no sword belt was, Goldir noticed the Prince standing in the corner of the dimly-lit room. The mild embarrassment at being caught unawares was replaced by fury at being caught unawares.

She held her tongue long enough to not disrespect the Elf, who moved from his hiding spot and approached her.

"The conversation did not go well," he said, "Just as I thought. What will you do now?"

"Simple," she said bitingly, "I will leave and find the village myself and tell any surviving Elves what has happened to their ring."

"Elves can manage plants without a magic ring. We are working with torch-grown plants, raised in the tunnels of the palace. Many kinds have taken to this, and we no longer must rely on outside plants. It has eased the fears of my people. Elves will adapt. Your villagers will be fine."

Sighing, Goldir dropped on the bed, letting out a frustrated groan, "That is not the point. I may have angered the King by being short with him, but I have come so far only to be told to go away. My efforts were all in vain. It is... very depressing."

"Let us replenish your supplies before you go," Legolas said, accepting her resolve, "If you will, stay one night and rest. Your horse is being brought here as we speak."

Goldir nodded after a moment of deliberation, "That is a welcome suggestion. Tomorrow, I will set out for Eriador. By the Valar, I will find that village."

(OoO)

The next morning found Goldir true to her word. Gwaedh seemed anxious to be out of the dark woods, and the Elf felt nearly the same. She leapt to Gwaedh's back and settled her pack and weapons. The pack was heavy with the graciously given food and supplies.

Goldir glanced back at Legolas, who had organized a small escort to guide her along the path and for added security. She was grateful for this; she had no desire to run into spiders alone. At the edge of Greenwood, they would part, and Goldir would be alone again.

"Farewell, My Lord. I thank you for your hospitality," Goldir said and bowed her head.

Legolas returned the bow, "Should your travels ever return you here, you will be most welcome."

With that, the eight mounted Elves departed down a well beaten path, heading west. Legolas admired Goldir's convictions, but he envied her freedom to pursue them. Smiling softly, the Prince returned to the stone palace, and to his duties as Border Captain.

Yeah, the end. Thanks for reading, leave your comments at the door. :)


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